Cassian: A Medieval Scottish Romance (The Immortal Highland Centurions Book 2)

by Jayne Castel

  The foul weather was their ally though.

  Gripping Jean by the arm, for the lass kept stumbling as they fled across the pebbled expanse of the inner-bailey, Aila kept her gaze fixed upon the dark figure leading the way.

  Cassian was little more than a broad-shouldered outline against the shadowy night beyond. Occasionally, she caught a glint from his drawn sword blade. His confidence and cool head awed her. The man was truly a soldier.

  From the moment he’d burst into the solar, he’d taken charge.

  They were still in the midst of danger, and yet she trusted him.

  As Cassian had anticipated, they didn’t reach their destination without running into trouble.

  Two English guards barred the way into the Nether Bailey, but Cassian was on them so fast the pair barely saw him coming.

  Pained grunts reached Aila.

  She pulled up short, causing Lady Gavina to run into her back. “Wait!” she whispered to her mistress. “It’s not safe yet.”

  Beside her, Jean whimpered. Aila tightened her grip on the lass’s arm. “Courage,” she murmured. “Hold fast, Jean.”

  Ahead, Cassian turned—two figures lying prostrate upon the ground before him—and motioned for the women to follow. He then slipped through the archway behind the fallen guards into the Nether Bailey.

  Darkness shrouded this corner of the fortress, making it difficult to find their way to the unruly clump of gorse that signaled the way out.

  A lone brazier smoked and hissed upon the walls. On the verge of going out, it threw out a little light over the exposed grassy area beneath it.

  The four women followed Cassian along the wall walk, using their hands to guide them.

  Aila halted when she heard Cassian mutter a soft curse up ahead.

  “I’ve found the gorse bush,” he announced, his tone rueful. “Thorny bastard.”

  In other circumstances, Aila might have smiled. However, she felt sick with nerves. The howl of the wind cloaked any noise they made, and she couldn’t yet hear any shouting from the keep behind them. But the guards would come soon enough.

  They had to get out of the castle grounds now.

  A squall hit the Nether Bailey—freezing rain slashing against their faces as they edged up to where Cassian had spoken. It was difficult not to blunder straight into the spikey growth of gorse. Aila managed to pick her way around it, following Cassian’s lead, and squeezed in behind him through the gap between the gorse and the secret doorway.

  The creak of iron filled the night when the door opened on rusted hinges, and once again, Aila was grateful for the howling storm.

  “Are you all with me?” Cassian asked. She couldn’t see his face, although from the clarity of his voice, he must have twisted toward her.

  “Aye,” Aila replied. “We’re ready.”

  “We don’t know what lies beyond this door,” he admitted, his tone growing grim. “But the cliff face is on the other side of the wall, and without torches to light our way, we risk toppling to our deaths.”

  Jean whimpered again. Aila silently clutched the maid to her. Although she didn’t voice her own fear, it welled up inside her nonetheless.

  “Follow me out slowly, and only advance forward a few steps when I let you know the way is clear,” Cassian concluded.

  With that, he pulled the wooden door toward him and moved through the narrow archway.

  Muffled shouting some way off reached them then, piercing the howl of the wind.

  Lady Elizabeth breathed a curse. “They’re after us.”

  It was time to go.

  Aila followed Cassian outside, stifling a gasp as the full force of the wind hit her in the face. She’d thought the storm had been violent inside the walls, but beyond their sturdy protection, the wind clawed at her—making their escape even riskier.

  The four women clung together, inching their way through the door and onto the pebbly slope below.

  Aila’s belly pitched. They were so exposed up here. One misstep and it would be over. Back in Dunnottar, she avoided walking too close to the ramparts. But out here in the dark, with the wind pummeling her, she was standing on the edge of a precipice.

  Outside the wall, the women halted as instructed and waited for Cassian’s signal.

  It took a while.

  Aila peered into the stormy darkness, her eyes straining. She tried to catch sight of him. Her eyes were gradually adjusting to the gloom, but the storm had closed them in, obliterating the night sky and the fires of Stirling burning below.

  “There are stairs,” he called back finally. “This way.”

  Doing as bid, Aila inched her way down the slope a few feet.

  “Slide down the stairs on your backsides,” Cassian instructed. “We’re going to have to feel our way down. It’ll be slow, but it’s safer.”

  None of his companions argued with him. Right now, no one was worried about dirtying their clothing.

  Her pulse beating in her ears, Aila obeyed. She let go of Jean, who now trembled against her, and lowered herself to the ground. “Come on, Jean,” she whispered. “Just do as he says, and we might get through this.”

  Then, feeling her way with her feet, Aila shuffled onward. She found the first step and slid down onto it, and then the next.

  It seemed to take an age to descend the steep, torturous stairway leading down from the Nether Bailey.

  Impatience thrummed through Cassian. He too shuffled down the steps on his backside. The buffeting storm made everything more dangerous. His cloak was sodden, and the wind had plastered it against his body. He’d long since pushed back the cowl as no one could see him out here anyway.

  Behind him, he could hear the scraping sounds of the women following. He hadn’t cautioned them again, for it was unnecessary. All of them understood just how dangerous this was.

  Eventually, Cassian reached the rocky bottom of the volcanic outcrop on which Stirling Castle perched. He rose to his feet and waited for the women to join him.

  They were on the edge of the town now; the gabled roof of the Kirk of the Holy Rude rose up to his left, a dark outline against the faint glow of lanterns.

  Cassian’s jaw clenched as he considered his next move. There were a few options open to him. He could try and hide the women in Stirling itself—if the kirk had been open, he’d have taken them down to the mithraeum. But the kirk was barred at this hour, and such a move would only trap them all in Stirling. By the time they tried to leave, the hills would be crawling with English soldiers.

  Tonight was their best chance of escape.

  It was either the river or the hills.

  The river was the riskier of the two options, for he’d have to steal a birlinn from Riverside before they could sail downriver with it. Cassian frowned then. The tide was out at this hour. The decision was made for him: he would have to take the women cross-country.

  His frown deepened to a scowl.

  Without horses and hampered by long skirts, the women wouldn’t be able to travel fast.

  Turning, his gaze settled upon a cloaked shape that drew close. “Cassian … we’ve made it?” Aila’s breathless voice reached him.

  “For now … are you all still with me?”

  “I think so.”

  Cassian raised his chin, eyes narrowing. High above, he spotted the glow of torches. The chatter of raised, angry voices drifted down the cliff toward them.

  The English had discovered the secret door, and were now following them down the cliff face.

  Cassian dropped his gaze to the four women who’d halted before him, their faces pale smudges in the darkness. Their lives were in his hands now; he couldn’t fail them. “Come,” he said gruffly. “It’s time to run.”

  XXVI

  THE WOODLAND GLADE

  AILA LAY UPON her back and drew in deep gulps of air. Her lungs burned, her back ached, and her legs no longer had any strength in them. If Cassian hadn’t let them halt in the woodland glade, she would have collapsed.

>   A few yards away, she heard a soft retching sound. Exhaustion had dug its claws into them all. She wasn’t sure which of her companions was being sick in the bushes, but Aila wasn’t surprised. She too fought the waves of nausea that washed over her.

  Too exhausted to even lift her head, Aila stared up through the embracing tree limbs overhead at the lightening sky.

  Had they really run all night?

  She wasn’t even sure how they’d managed it—only that fear of capture had driven them on.

  Cassian had led them over the rock-studded hills away from Stirling, careful to keep the women off the road. And all the while, the storm had screamed across the hillsides like an enraged fury.

  Without Cassian, they would never have made it this far. Without his impressive sense of direction, they’d have wandered lost and likely fallen into a ravine.

  He was their savior.

  Dragging in another deep breath, Aila inclined her head to spy Cassian seated a few feet away. Unlike her, he didn’t lie sprawled on his back. Instead, he leaned against the trunk of a birch.

  Now that dawn filtered across the world and the storm had spent itself, she could see him properly for the first time since their escape.

  Cassian’s chest rose and fell sharply. Sweat slicked his handsome face and plastered his short brown hair to his scalp.

  Feeling her gaze upon him, he shifted his attention to her, but Aila hurriedly looked away.

  She was torn. She was grateful to him—his bravery and quick thinking had saved them—but his courage didn’t cancel out what happened between them. It didn’t erase his cold, callous words.

  But ironically, the journey here had given her time to think. And as Aila slowly mulled events over in her mind, she’d come to realize that she was largely to blame for this mess.

  She’d thrown herself at him.

  Mortification, hot and prickly, swamped her then as she recalled how he’d warned her off. Yet she hadn’t listened. Her own willful blindness had gotten her into this situation.

  Cassian was an enigma, a man who clearly hid something. She burned to know why he was so guarded with his heart—yet the searing humiliation she’d suffered at his hands prevented her from pressing the issue.

  Coward.

  Keeping her gaze averted, Aila rolled over onto her side, away from him. She could still feel him watching her, but she focused instead on her ragged breathing and pounding heart—only now it wasn’t just caused by exhaustion.

  Nausea hit her, and Aila swallowed down bile. She drew in a deep breath, fighting the urge to be sick. Fear and urgency had driven her during the night, and had given her a respite from her misery. But as sun filtered over the glade—illuminating a mossy space with a burn trickling through its center, fringed by spindly birches—the ache in her belly returned.

  She wouldn’t meet Cassian’s eye—she was too embarrassed to do so. The less contact the pair of them had, the better.

  Once they returned to Dunnottar, they could go back to their old lives.

  Only, I shall never forget him. The thought rose, unbidden, but Aila shoved it back. No, I must.

  Aila sat by the fire and turned two large grouse over the glowing embers. The gamey aroma of the roasting bird filled the glade. Her belly rumbled in response. She’d eaten virtually nothing over the past few days and was starting to feel dizzy.

  The three other women sat around the fire with her, their faces drawn and pale. Cassian wasn’t present. He’d gone to scout the area, to make sure the English weren’t nearby. But before going off on patrol, he’d hunted them some grouse.

  In Cassian’s absence, the women had hung up their sodden cloaks to dry upon the boughs of the birches while they cooked the grouse. Aila longed to be able to change her lèine and kirtle, for her skirts were now filthy and the still damp fabric itched her skin.

  “Robert is doomed now.” Lady Elizabeth’s broken whisper interrupted the gentle crackling of the fire. Sorrow etched her face.

  “Don’t say that, Liz.” Lady Gavina reached out and placed a hand on her sister-by-marriage’s arm. “Ye don’t know for sure.”

  Elizabeth’s throat bobbed. “David’s behavior won’t go unpunished. Edward will take his vengeance out on the De Keiths.”

  “Robert isn’t David,” Gavina replied firmly. “Even Longshanks will realize that.”

  The look Elizabeth gave her told them she doubted the English king would show her husband any mercy.

  Aila glanced down at the grouse. The skin was starting to blister; the birds were almost cooked. Turning the roasting grouse over the fire gave her something to do—stopped her thinking about everything that had happened.

  Around her, a sunny afternoon turned golden and the shadows lengthened. The violent storm had swept away the clouds and allowed the sun to bathe the world once more.

  Summer had returned.

  However, Aila felt as if winter had taken up residence within her. There was a chill in her chest that wouldn’t thaw.

  “Longshanks has enough to contend with at present.” Gavina continued after a pause. “His hold on Scotland is tenuous at best … Robert won’t be his focus.”

  Shifting her attention from their supper, Aila noted that Elizabeth’s gaze glittered. “I want to hope,” she admitted softly. “But I’m not sure my heart can take it.”

  “Worrying about Robert is all well and good, My Lady,” Jean spoke up, her voice brittle. “But it’s yer own neck ye should be concerned about.” She glanced around the darkening glade. “Where’s the Captain? We should be moving on.”

  “We won’t be leaving here until dusk settles,” Aila replied. “It’s not safe to travel in daylight. The storm has passed … it should be a fair night and the moon is waxing, so traveling won’t be difficult.”

  Jean’s mouth pursed. “Captain Gaius should be here … protecting us.”

  “He’ll be back soon enough.” Elizabeth cast Jean an irritated look. “Ye should be pleased that he’s gone to scout. Edward will have soldiers out looking for us.”

  Jean dropped her gaze. “Aye, My Lady,” she murmured, chastised. “I am indeed grateful.”

  “We have much to thank the captain for,” Gavina added softly, before sighing. “We’d have never gotten this far without him.”

  Aila swallowed to ease the sudden tightness in her throat. Her mistress was right, of course. Nonetheless, she didn’t want to think about Cassian, let along talk about him.

  At that moment, the man himself appeared at the edge of the glade. Cassian’s face was inscrutable as he strode across to the fire and lowered himself down before it.

  “Any sign of the English, Captain?” Gavina greeted him.

  Cassian shook his head. “We got a good head-start on them it seems … although they will pick up our trail soon enough.”

  Lady Elizabeth exchanged a worried look with her maid at this, while Lady Gavina’s attention remained upon Cassian. “Back in Stirling … did ye see it happen, Captain? Did ye see David die?”

  Cassian raked a hand through his hair. The gesture caused a visceral reminder in Aila, of how she’d threaded her fingers through those soft strands when they’d lain together. Longing pulsed through her before Aila clenched her jaw. Stop it.

  Oblivious to the war Aila was waging, Cassian nodded. “They were in the garden … David went for Edward with his dirk.” he paused then, scowling. “But he was no match for him. Edward disarmed him in a couple of moves before stabbing him twice in the throat.”

  Gavina swallowed hard. “What was David thinking?” she murmured. “This wasn’t what we’d planned. All he had to do was feign submission to the king and gather details that could help us.” She broke off there, shaking her head in despair. “But no, he had to go after glory. Selfish, vain man!”

  A sharply indrawn breath filled the glade. All gazes shifted to where Jean sat. Scorn twisted the maid’s face. Gone was the mask of gentle subservience she usually wore when in the presence of the ladies. Sh
e was now glaring openly at Lady Gavina.

  “Ye are a cold, hard bitch,” she choked out the words. “Yer husband has just had his throat cut, and ye sit there dry-eyed, condemning him. No wonder he couldn’t stand ye.”

  XXVII

  HOLDING BACK

  THE WORDS FELL heavily in the warm afternoon air. Suddenly, it went quiet in the glade, save for the crackling of the fire and the gentle gurgle of the burn.

  When Lady Gavina spoke, her tone was as wintry as her expression. “And ye wouldn’t condemn him for putting all our lives at risk?”

  The maid didn’t answer. She merely stared at Gavina, her eyes burning with fury. But Aila could sense the lass’s grief. It pulsed just beneath the surface.

  “How long have ye been stealing into his bed?” Gavina demanded. Her small frame had gone rigid, and her blue eyes were narrowed.

  “Two moons,” Jean replied, raising her chin in defiance.

  “And do ye think ye are the first servant to spread her legs for him?” Jean flinched, but Gavina continued, leaning toward the maid now. “Do ye actually think he cared for ye?”

  “He did.” Jean bit out the words. “What we had was special.”

  Aila’s heart twisted as she watched the pain on Jean’s face. Poor, foolish wench. Was that how she appeared to Cassian?

  Gavina’s mouth twisted. “Ye weren’t special to him. David De Keith loved no one but himself.”

  Aila’s breathing caught. Gavina had played the role of long-suffering wife for years now, despite the laird’s callous behavior. He’d never bothered to hide his disdain for her, or hidden his outrageous flirting with other women in her presence. And all the while, Gavina had put up a stoic front.

  But the Lady of Dunnottar was done pretending none of that had hurt her.

  Jean glared back at Lady Gavina for a long moment. But then her face crumpled. It was an awful thing to see, to watch a woman’s heart break. For a few instants, Aila forgot to breathe. Suddenly, her own unhappiness, her own disappointment, paled to insignificance.